


Have a little faith

by angylinni



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:46:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angylinni/pseuds/angylinni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean investigate a strange occurrence in Santa Claus Indiana and find that maybe having a little faith isn't a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have a little faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShatteredScribe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ShatteredScribe).



“I think I found something.”  
Dean looked up as Sam slid the laptop sideways. “So?” He asked as he scanned the article on the Inquisitor Weekly website.  
“Every house in Santa Claus Indiana had presents mysteriously appear under their tree on Christmas morning,” Sam said excitedly, scrolling down the article. “And not one of them was bought by anyone in the household.”  
A slow lift of his right brow was his answer.  
“C'mon, Dean,” Sam said. “No one can explain it. They all got exactly what they wanted for Christmas.”  
“Big deal, people got presents,” Dean said, signaling to the waitress for another beer.  
Sam leaned over the table. “It might be Santa Claus.”  
“What are you, four? Santa Claus doesn't exist.”  
Sam shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “You can really say that after everything we've seen? Honestly? We've seen Wendigos, Samhain, witches, Gods, hell-hounds and Demons and Santa Claus doesn't exist?”  
“Fine,” Dean growled curtly, glancing back at the laptop. “We'll go to Santa Claus, Indiana.”

~*~

“Afternoon, Sheriff.” Sam flashed one of his many badges. “Agent Hagar, and this is Agent Jagger,” he said, nodding towards Dean who also flashed a badge. “We'd like to talk to you about the presents?”  
“Why's the FBI interested in a bunch of presents?” Sheriff Cooper asked, frowning up at him.  
Sam glanced at Dean, a flummoxed expression on his face. “The FBI is always interested in home invasions, Sheriff.”  
Cooper took off his peaked hat and scratched his head. “It wasn't exactly a home invasion. Whoever did it left stuff instead of taking it.”  
“Still, we'd like to talk to some of the families, find out if there's a connection with any of the open cases we're working.”  
“Ok, I'll round up some folks, have them come by the station.”  
“Actually,” Sam interjected, “we'd like to see the scenes, so if you could just provide us with some addresses?”  
“Yep, I can do that, c'mon inside and we'll get you a list.”

~*~

“This is the first one,” Sam said as they pulled up. The house didn't look any different from the other ones on the block. They were older, built probably during the big boom of the fifties and sixties when war heroes were returning and settling down to find the American dream. Pale yellow siding was framed by black shutters and white trim, a cheery wreath decorating the door.  
“Let's get this over with,” Dean said as he put the car in park and opened the door. He stepped out of the car and began walking across the street and up the well maintained sidewalk. Sam followed behind, scanning the street and neighboring houses.  
Dean walked up the steps and stood on the small porch, rapping hard on the door. “Morning, ma'am,” he said as the door opened and an older woman stared back at him. “Agent Jagger and Agent Hagar, we'd like to ask you some questions about the incident.” As he spoke, he flashed her his badge and slipped it back into his jacket pocket.  
The woman stared at both him and Sam, a frown marring her face. “Incident?”  
Sam stepped forward. “The home invasion.”  
“I, uh, I don't think I know what you're talking about,” she said. “Santa Claus came and brought us presents. I don't know how he knew we couldn't afford to do anything this year for the twins, but somehow, a miracle occurred.”  
“So, only toys were left for your children?” Sam asked, pulling out a small pad and jotting down some notes.  
“Oh no, there were gifts for me and John as well, everything we'd think to ask for but wouldn't because we know none of our family has any extra this year.”  
“And John is?” Dean pressed.  
“My husband. Why is the FBI so interested in gifts again?”  
“We're interested in all home invasions, ma'am. I think we've got enough for now, thank you for your time.”  
“Well sure, you boys have a Merry Christmas,” she said as she stepped back into the house, closing the door behind her.  
Sam and Dean walked slowly down the steps, Dean's gaze firmly on the car parked across the street. Sam turned back and saw the curtains twitch like someone hastily shut them. “The next one on the list claims to have seen someone leaving gifts.”  
Dean snorted under his breath as he got into the car, fitting the key into the ignition and starting it up. “Yeah, a fat guy in a red suit, right?”  
“Why can't you take this seriously?” Sam pulled open the passenger door and slid into the car as Dean put it into gear.  
“Because it's ridiculous,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Think about it, Sam. Why would they have gotten exactly what they wanted? I think this whole town is under some sort of spell to make them believe that a jolly old man is giving them presents. This town has a reputation and it's no secret that tourism is down everywhere. What better way to drive it up than to pretend that Santa came and delivered gifts to the entire county?”  
“I knew you were a cynic, but man, never knew it ran that deep,” Sam said as they drove down the quiet, residential streets.

~*~

“I told you, just like I told the Sheriff,” the boy said, a mutinous glint in his seven year old gaze. “It was Santa. Red suit, big white beard, fat belly, the works.”  
Dean crouched down to stare him in the eyes. “You know that lying to me means you can go to jail, right?”  
“Not lying,” the boy insisted, folding his arms across his chest. “Sides' why should I lie? Did you see my sweet board the old man brought?” He kicked the side of the sleek red skateboard lying next to his feet. “Brought me the works, helmet and pads too.”  
“And you're sure it wasn't your dad dressed up to make you think it was Santa?” Dean asked.  
“Okay, I think that's enough. Thanks Billy,” Sam said as he grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him upright. They began to walk back to the car. “Dean, the kid is seven, don't crush his dream.”  
Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled out the keys. “He'll live, you did.”  
“It still hurt,” Sam said, staring out the window. “It was one of the few things I could hold onto that was normal.”

~*~

The diner Dean pulled up in front of didn't look too packed and there wasn't a tourist bus in sight, making it the perfect stop. Sam hadn't spoken to him since they'd left that last house, brooding over the crappy childhood they'd both survived. Dean shrugged mentally. At least Sam had Santa until seven, that little bomb had been dropped in his lap when he'd been five and Dad was too busy hunting Wendigos to make it home for Christmas. He'd dropped them at Bobby's and took off. Dean had woken up at ungodly o'clock to find Bobby sneaking around, laying gifts and two stockings out. Guilt gnawed at him as he followed Sam into the quaint diner and to the table the waitress led them to. “Look,” he said after they'd been handed menus and the girl had wandered off, “I'm sorry that I burst your cherry about Santa-”  
“It's fine, Dean,” Sam interrupted, flipping open his menu and burying his face in between the tall halves. “I'm starved.”  
The waitress returned with their drinks and stood, pad in hand, glancing from one to the other. “So, you boys ready to order?”  
Sam flipped his menu shut and smiled up at the older woman. “Yeah, give me the Rudolph special, eggs over easy.”  
Dean frowned at his menu as Sam ordered. What they hell kind of place named specials after Santa's reindeer? He sighed, this place, obviously. Slapping the menu closed, he reached for his drink, taking a deep swallow. “I'll have the Donner burger, well done with extra fries.”  
“Okay, I'll just put this in and have it back to you in two shakes of a reindeer's tail.”  
Dean barely refrained from rolling his eyes as she walked away, choosing instead to focus his gaze back on his little brother. “So, I'm not convinced it was anything but a staged event.”  
“It's too big to be staged,” Sam said, shaking his head and pulling out his notepad. “You've got nearly four hundred houses and they all got exactly what they wanted for Christmas? The chances of keeping that a secret are slim to none with an edge to never gonna happen. There's something we're missing, Dean.”  
“I'll give it one more day, but that's it,” Dean said, taking another drink. “We've got real jobs to do instead of this namby-pamby crap. Nobody died, nobody is hurt by this, so why should we care?”  
“Because I want to know the truth,” Sam said as the waitress returned with their food, setting it down with a flourish.  
“You boys enjoy now,” she said before backing away.  
They ate in silence, finishing the huge plates of food in front of them in about twenty minutes. The last rays of daylight were slanting across the windows when Dean signaled the waitress for the check. “So, are we going to talk to anyone else today?”  
Sam shook his head. “Nah, I want to do some research. Didn't we pass a motel with wi-fi a few miles back?”  
Dean nodded as the waitress slid the check onto the table. “Yeah, the Red Sleigh Inn, I think it was called.”  
“That's a real nice place to stay,” the waitress said as she gathered up the money Dean put out. “I've known the owners since I was a little girl.”  
“Thanks,” Dean said as he rose from the table, Sam following behind him.  
The waitress watched them go with a secret smile on her face. “A real nice place,” she said softly.

~*~

Dean sprawled across one queen bed as Sam set up his computer. Leaning his head on his pillowed arms, he watched his brother begin to surf the web. It wasn't long before his eyelids grew heavy and he began to snore. Sam glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. It never failed, if there was a bed around, Dean would sleep like the dead.  
An hour or so later, Sam was fighting back yawns. He powered down the computer and stretched out on the other bed, falling asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.  
Four hours later, he sat up suddenly, eyes wide open. Standing across from him was a fat old man wearing a red velveteen suit and high black boots. A wispy white beard stretched almost to his knees, nearly obscuring the wide black leather belt around his belly. “Merry Christmas, Sam.”  
“I'm dreaming.”  
“No, you're not.”  
“Dean!”  
Dean mumbled, and rolled over. Sam glanced at him and his leg shot out, kicking the other bed. “Dean, wake up!”  
“He doesn't believe,” the old man said, reaching into a deep red bag and pulling out a box. “But you always did, didn't you Sam?”  
“You can't be real,” Sam said, reaching for his gun.  
“You won't need that,” the man said, waving his hand. The gun skidded across the nightstand and slid behind it. “I'm not here to hurt you, I'm here to let you know that you weren't wrong. I do exist.”  
“But-”  
“No buts, Sam,” the man said, laying the box at the end of the bed. “Just believe.” He laid another gift at the foot of Dean's bed before tying the sack up tightly. “Sleep now,” he said, waving his hand once more. Sam fell backwards onto the pillows, his eyes closing as sleep took over.  
“Merry Christmas,” the man said as he hitched the bag up over his shoulder and walked to the fireplace in the corner. Laying his finger on the side of his nose, he disappeared, leaving Sam and Dean sleeping peacefully.

~*~

“What's this?”  
Sam rolled over, rubbing sleep from his eyes. His gaze landed on the box Dean held in his hands and he shook his head. “I swore it was a dream.”  
“What was a dream?” Dean asked as he pulled the paper off the box. Lifting the lid, he whistled softly. Inside lay a set of pistols, the exact ones he'd had his eye on when he was fourteen and he'd seen them in the window of a gun shop in Wichita.  
“Santa Claus.”  
Dean pulled his gaze away from the pistols to stare at his brother. “What the hell are you talking about?”  
Sam nodded towards the gift. “We had a visitor last night and he left us both presents.”  
“Cut the crap, Sammy. Where'd you find these? I never thought I'd see them again.”  
“That's just it, Dean. I never found anything. There was a guy in a red suit and a beard and he left you those pistols.”  
“Stop drinking the kool-aid, Sammy. Where'd you buy these and when?”  
“There isn't any kool-aid Dean. Santa Claus left you a present, despite the fact that you don't believe he exists.”  
“Fine, what'd you get then?” Dean nodded towards the other box sitting at the end of Sam's bed.  
“Let's find out,” Sam said, leaning forward to grab the box. He pulled off the paper and opened the box, a wide smile splitting his face. Inside was a little slugger glove and a pristine white baseball, just like the ones he'd asked for that year he'd turned seven. “It's the mitt and ball I asked Dad for.”  
“The one that Bobby didn't know about so you got the wagon instead?” Dean said, leaning over to take a peek into the box. “Nice, but seriously, where'd they come from?”  
“I told you, Santa Claus brought them,” Sam said as he pulled out the glove and slid his fingers into it. It fit his hand perfectly and he thumped the ball into the sweet spot, memories flooding him. “Have a little faith, Dean.”  
Dean shook his head but as he glanced down at the pistols, a warmth spread through his chest and he smiled. Maybe he does exist.


End file.
